On a slightly more personal, and longer, note

At 1:39 this afternoon, I officially survived finals week! I usually spend most of my time in the library during the semester, but over the past week and a half I pitched a tent. I lived out of vending machines and the 7-11; I ingested caffeine in any form I could get my hands on. I accosted people for hot chocolate. I even pondered a cigarette a few times, despite having quit 2 years ago, while stumbling through the wreathing smoke lingering outside of the IC at 4 AM. I watched the sun rise over Lake Michigan from the IC twice. I listened to hours of Counting Crows, Jakob Dylan, and Iron & Wine to drown out the screaming, running, nervous breakdowns, and weeping that filled the IC. I fell down the rabbit-hole of ever increasing paranoia that I was going to miss a final, culminating with jumping out of bed at 7:58 this morning, convinced I had missed my 1:00 PM exam. But I’ve made it through! I’m done, and still have some sanity intact. That it itself is awesome enough, but the passing of this week also marks the passing of my first year at LUC. It’s reflecting on this fact that blows my mind.
I was worrying about my philosophy grade while studying for my statistics exam (I’m a multitasking obsessive). I will most likely get a B in my philosophy course, despite the fact that both times I watched the sun rise were related to that course. This bothers me because somehow I’ve managed to avoid getting a B yet. I really, really don’t want one. I like the streamlined appearance of As. They are nice and neat, while Bs are grotesque, bulging bobbles. Anyway, I was thinking about this grade, and I remembered how much of an accomplishment it even is for me to be at Loyola. When I dropped out of high school, I still planned to go to college. After I got my GED and the years started piling up, I tried to accept the fact that I was never going to make it. I was working two jobs to support myself and my family; there was no way I could go to college. I couldn’t quit my jobs, and I would probably just fail anyway. Two years later, I got the opportunity to go to community college. When it came time to transfer to a four-year college, I applied to Loyola on a whim. I never thought I would get in; and if I did, there was never any way I could afford it. I was accepted, and received five letters asking me to send my financial aid information. I never sent it because Loyola was my “lottery school”. If I won the lottery, I would go. Eventually, I sent it off for some reason or another, and they gave me most of the financial aid I needed. I packed up my life and my cat, got in a van with my parents and came to Chicago to see if I could get the last bit of funding I needed to attend Loyola. The meeting with the financial aid counselor would determine whether the van went home with me or without me. Amazingly, it all worked out. I haven’t fallen flat on my face. So yeah, I might get a B. I still don’t want one; but I think it’s pretty damn awesome that I even made it this far. Thank you, God. Now I just have to figure out what I’m going to do with myself for the next week!